


The Shaping of a Red Wizard

by Fionavar



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Backstory, Family Dynamics, Gen, Red Wizards of Thay, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15701052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fionavar/pseuds/Fionavar
Summary: The Red Wizards of Thay are chosen from the ranks of the Thayan nobility at a young age and trained rigorously in magic, politics and ambition. Not all families are keen to see this happen.None of them have a choice.





	The Shaping of a Red Wizard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onemooncircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemooncircles/gifts), [codenamecynics](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=codenamecynics), [Dakoyone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakoyone/gifts).



“More reports from the tenants, master,” the seneschal said, adding them onto the pile that trapped Khezarat Xul at his desk on a perfect autumn afternoon. He could see the sunshine, the wind snatching leaves from the trees; he could hear the wavelets on the lakeshore, the cries of gulls, and the shrieking laughter of his daughter as she splashed her minder.

He knew that the seneschal would have had these reports for a week, holding onto them until Ashebat decreed it the most inconvenient time possible to dump them in her husband’s lap. It seemed quite impossible to correct the seneschal’s loyalty; he’d had the man lashed almost to the point of death twice in the last five years. “Add them to the pile, and then you have my leave to go.”

The man obeyed and bowed deeply before he left, probably to crawl back into the mistress’s bed. Khezarat sighed. The seneschal could be punished and would be replaced as soon as someone competent could be found; his errant and extremely indiscreet wife was a less tractable problem. He had made mistake after mistake with Ashebat… If only Herath-aket had lived.

Khezarat pushed away his chair, went to the window to watch his daughter play in the water. She gleamed golden in the sun, soaked from bare head to bare feet. Herath-aket would have loved her so much, would have treasured and spoiled her. They would have been so _happy_ together.

They had been happy. The Xul estate was a rich and beautiful one, spread out near the lakeshore, and Khezarat owned much of Nethjet. House Azath owned the rest, and had an heir-daughter of similar age; it had only made sense, when they both came of age, to consolidate their power with a marriage contract. Political and financial sense had, unexpectedly, been joined with good fortune; he and Herath-aket worked well together, understood each other… had come to love.  

Khezarat closed his eyes, remembered. The way she’d stroke his head. The touch of her lips, of her teeth, at the nape of his neck. The sound of her laughter at his first wrinkle. Her tears, as they lost child after child unborn. The death-cry.

He hadn’t wanted to marry again, but there had to be an heir.

It had been ridiculous, an old man like him going back into society looking for a wife, and the fact that so many young beauties or their mothers had thrown themselves at him somehow only made it worse. Herath-aket would have laughed until she cried at some of the things they’d said to him, would actually have choked if she’d heard him respond. She would have warned him against Ashebat – beautiful, cold, ambitious Ashebat. She’ll be grateful, he’d thought. She’s lovely, but she has nothing but an unexceptional bloodline; I am old, she won’t have to put up with me for long, and as mother to the Xul heir she’ll have power and wealth, she’ll have everything she could possibly desire.

He could not have imagined how… poisonous it would be to live with her. The hatred, the contempt. The cruelty… they were only slaves, true, but they had value, and they had served faithfully for years. They had not deserved that. Her _ambition_ – filling the child’s head with dreams of wizardry and power and conquest.

The bitterest part: Ashebat was almost certainly right about their daughter.

Khezarat threw open the door, stepped out into the perfect autumn afternoon. “Where’s my Khem?” he called, and his daughter looked up from the sand.

“Papa!” she shrieked, throwing herself into his open arms. “I missed you!”

“Master, I’m so sorry, forgive me-“

“Lealis, it’s fine. You’re dismissed,” Khezarat said, waving the slave away. As if a little sand and lakewater on his clothes mattered.

Khem covered his face with cold, wet little kisses, and he laughed. “I missed you too. Have you had a good day?”

“Oh, yes, but breakfast was boring and Mistress Mother’s books were hard and I had more weird dreams, and Mistress Mother whipped Lealis and I wasn’t allowed to hug her, but lunch was good and can I have a wyvern egg to hatch into a pet named Thunderwing?”

He hoisted her more securely onto his hip, carrying her towards the pavilion beside the lake. Four years old, and she was getting so heavy now, but never too much for a foolish old man to manage. “My dearest, wyverns grow entirely too large to make good pets, and it’s too wet for them here. Thunderwing would catch a cold, and then he would sneeze fire and burn our house down.”

“Oh.” Khem nuzzled into the side of his neck. “Then can I make a guard drake?”

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“Hmmmmm. Maybe. If I was a Red Wizard, like Mistress Mother says I should be. But you’d let me try anyway, wouldn’t you? Please?”

Khezarat had come to hate those two words. “I’ll put in an order for a book of instructions, and I think you’ll need some dragon scales. What colour do you want?”

“I like pink,” Khem said immediately.

“Of course,” he laughed. “But I don’t think I’ve heard of pink dragons. So would I need to buy a mix of red and white scales, or would you prefer to use white ones and a great quantity of dye?” He set them down on one of the pavilion benches, filled his eyes with her as she chattered away merrily in his now-sodden lap.

Ashebat, she was all Ashebat to look at – the promise of beauty in her large, almond-shaped eyes, so pale a brown they looked gold in most lights; the clear golden skin; the small, delicate nose; the curve of lips, the shape of her ears. He could see nothing of himself in Khemuret… and perhaps that was inevitable. She had almost certainly been sired by the seneschal, or one of Ashebat’s other amusements.

_Enough_ , he could almost hear Herath-aket say. _She’s ours in every way that matters._

She was.

“… and then the one who keeps turning up and never says anything, he took a rose from the hand of the darkness, and he danced with the darkness without any clothes on. The one who’s always drinking, her back cracked open and I could see all the way to her heart, and the funny one made a friend out of ashes and brimstone!”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He’d consulted with diviners before, and knew how they saw things; the more Khem told him of her dreams, the more she sounded like one. “And what else did you dream?”

“A new one. I dreamed a sad lady. She was all wrinkly, like you, and you looked at her like you missed her, but you couldn’t actually see her, and you told her not to leave but all the colour ran out of her skin like ink and she flew away in a cloud of moths.”

He had never spoken of Herath-aket to Khem; she was so young to understand, and certainly nobody else would have. Ashebat had been so very insecure in her power, the first year of their marriage.

“ _Khem_.” His voice cracked. There was no mistaking the power that had given her that vision, and if he could see it, the Red Wizards would not pass her by. He had another year at most, and then they would take her away. His sweet daughter, his sunshine. They would shape her into one of them, all ambition and pride and power, or they would kill her.

“Papa?” She stared up at him, touched his face. “You’re crying.”

“Oh, my Khem.”

“Did I… did I do something wrong?” He was scaring her, and she was beginning to cry too.

“I love you so much,” he told her fiercely. “So much, do you understand me, Khemuret? You’re everything to me. I love you. Promise me you’ll remember, whatever happens. Whatever they make of you. Say that you’ll remember.”

“Papa!” She buried herself against his chest, tears mingling with lakewater. “I love you! I’ll remember. I promise!”

One year, and he let the estate management completely in the hands of Ashebat and her toys. It didn’t matter. He had one year left, one year to spend with his daughter, one year to make as many memories as he could to sustain himself after she was gone, one year to surround her so completely with love so that she would remember him. There were Red Wizards who left after they’d finished their training, it was permitted; if she could remember, if he could live that long, she might want to come home.

He might see her again.

She screamed when they took her away. He would never forget that, or forgive the Red Wizards for it.

The Academy of Shifters and Seers was only across the lake, near Nethentir; on clear days, he could almost see its towers. He wrote to her. _What are you learning, my Khem? Do they treat you well? What are you dreaming now? I love you._

His first letter was returned unopened, with an attachment. _The Red Wizards of the Academy of Shifters and Seers thank you for your interest, Daeron Xul. You have done well, begetting one worthy to study with us. However, we prefer our students remain focused on their studies. Distractions are not tolerated. Headmaster Xyllarc._

He wrote anyway. The Red Wizards’ response never varied, but he chose to believe that meant they had not killed her.

Then, on a winter day fifteen years after they’d taken her, the attachment changed. _The Red Wizards of the Academy of Shifters and Seers thank you for your interest, Daeron Xul. The Red Wizard Khemuret Xul will be participating in the Graduation Exhibition on the Academy grounds at noon, 15th day of Tasarkh. You have our permission to attend. Headmaster Xyllarc._

The small arena on the Academy grounds was flooded in red robes, with only a handful of other colours to leaven it. The Graduation Exhibition, as Khezarat understood it, was designed for students to display their skills – to more senior Red Wizards, to gain an apprenticeship; or to the lesser powers of Thay, like the nobility and the military. Nobody else attending, as far as he could tell, was just a parent too stubborn to let go of their child. He stood at the railing beside one of the army captains.

Red Wizard after Red Wizard was called to the arena, each tested against battle-slaves or monsters. To his old and untutored eye, it looked like the Red Wizards were definitely trying to kill the children, but each emerged triumphant eventually.

“Khemuret Xul!” the announcer called, and Khezarat pressed closer to the railing, straining his eyes. Fifteen years! There she was, his beloved daughter, stepping out onto the field. She didn’t look at him, golden eyes intent on the field, waiting for the threat to appear.

“ _Khem_ ,” he breathed. “Oh, be careful.”

A roar went up, and Khezarat felt a painful clenching at his old heart; a red guard drake and a white one broke from their pens and thundered towards her. _Do you remember, Khem? Your pink guard drake? The book with the ritual it took me months to find, how we couldn’t do it but Lealis sewed you a fluffy one and you slept with Prettyfangclawdeath until the day they took you away? She’s still on your pillow in your room. Do you remember it? Do you remember me?_

Her voice was steady, calling out a series of incomprehensible syllables as her hands moved in the accompanying gestures. Then she added some harsh, hissing sounds, and the red drake sprung upon the white one.

“Suggestion,” commented a nearby Red Wizard. “Not a usual tactic for a diviner… she has potential.”

Khem approached the fighting drakes slowly, spinning a ball of brilliant green light between her hands. The red drake and the white were evenly matched, tearing great gashes in each other and completely uninterested in her. She loosed her spell, and it lanced into the white’s spine; the red one seized its opening and tore out its rival’s throat.

The red one, dyed deeper with blood, approached Khem. She hissed at it again, and almost, Khezarat thought, smiled. It stood panting in front of her, and she set a hand to its scaly head. Lifted it away dripping with gore, which didn’t seem to bother her or impede her spell-casting. Another ball of green light, pressed directly into the beast’s skull, and it died.

“Retire, Red Wizard Khemuret Xul!” the announcer cried, and she bowed and obeyed.

Surely it was not just his pride that spoke when he thought that had been the swiftest and cleanest of the exhibitions; that his daughter really was exceptional? That other Red Wizard had seemed to be mildly impressed. He approached her. “ _Raalkir_ , if you have a moment?”

The Red Wizard looked him up and down, sneering. “Speak swiftly, _daeron_. The next exhibition will begin any moment.”

“Where might one speak with the graduating wizards?”

“I can’t imagine you’d have much to offer one,” she remarked, and her companions laughed. “Over that way, and speak to the doorguard.”

“My thanks, _raalkir_ ,” he said humbly, and left.

The doorguard seemed similarly unimpressed, but he was permitted entry into a large hall thronged with Red Wizards. He stood staring about him. He would have thought he could pick her out immediately - he had waited for this moment for fifteen years - but they all looked the same. Slowly, Khezarat made his way through the crowd, searching for her familiar face, a gesture, the sound of her voice, even someone saying her name. He passed through conversations, heard them talking about him, one old man who had the effrontery to barge in here with no particular power to offer anyone, and he tried to ignore it along with the misgivings in his heart. Finally, he found a boy, young enough to be one of the graduating students, with only a few others around. He looked so pathetically grateful to have Khezarat approach him, he almost hated to speak and spoil the illusion that he had something to offer.

“Excuse me, young _raalkir_. Do you know where I might find Khemuret Xul?”

Instantly the boy’s expression changed - not just with the loss of gratitude and hope, but his mouth curled into an ugly line, and there was an undercurrent of laughter among his friends. “Oh, you want _that_ one.”

“Of course he does,” a girl added. “I’m sure everyone’s heard exactly how _useful_ and how _accommodating_ she is by now. It really was too good to keep within the Academy walls.”

“We could arrange a repeat performance for the old man,” another boy suggested.

“Tempting,” the girl said. “But you heard what happened to Ptaleth-ke and Tuhari when they tried - not to mention Khaizri. Not really worth it.”

“Please,” Khezarat interrupted. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but it sounded as though Khem’s studies had not been easy for her, that she still had enemies among her peers. “I just want to talk to her.”

“Of course,” said the girl, and the circle broke out snickering again. “I believe she’s over in that corner, gluing her lips to Instructor Kharzura’s arse as usual.”

Khezarat didn’t wait to hear more, approaching one of the thicker clusters of people: mostly Red Wizards, but he could make out the braid of an admiral from the Alaor, and a cavalry officer in the uniform of Surthay.

“I thank you for your interest,” - and that was her voice, he was certain - “but I am not entertaining any offers at present.”

Did she mean to come home? Khezarat sidled into the group around her, ignoring the disdainful looks it earned him. There she was, at last, his Khem as he’d dreamt her for fifteen endless years.  She was Ashebat all over again, as he’d known when she was younger: beautiful, almost glowing in her crimson robes, her head marked with the intricate tattoos of the Red Wizard.

“Oh, _Khem_!” the words fairly burst out of him. “I was so proud of you out there!”

“Well, that’s… kind of you, if presumptuous.” She was smiling, a polite but oddly icy expression that he’d seen Ashebat wear too often, and there was Ashebat’s disdain in her eyes,  and no recognition at all.  “Who _are_ you, _daeron_?”

She didn’t recognise him, but surely she’d remember when he told her. She had to. She’d promised. “I’m… I’m your Papa. Khezarat Xul.”

She blinked. “Well. Then you’ve some right to be proud, I suppose, but I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“You don’t remember me. I thought… you promised you’d try.” He had always been foolish, too emotional. He’d known, he’d always known that if the Red Wizards took her he’d lose her, and yet he had hoped for so many years… “I missed you so much, Khem.”

Something flickered in her eyes -

“This is all very touching,” an older Red Wizard drawled. “By all means, Khemuret, feel free to continue this little scene. Don’t stop on our account.”

\- and was gone. “I’m sure you had - and have - better things to do with your time, _Daeron_ Xul. I certainly do. Would you be so kind as to leave and let me get on with them?”

“Khem -” he pleaded, stretching out a shaking hand

She knocked it away abruptly, turning her back on him.

“I love you so much,” he said helplessly, her crimson back blurring with his tears. “If ever you remember… please come home.”

He turned and hobbled away, ignoring the laughter from the circle that surrounded the Red Wizard Khemuret Xul.


End file.
